In Soviet Russia...

Jarome is for hockey!

Thanks, Peanut, you're a genius.

Fragment Blog 2

Very delayed. Resulting from two consecutive Wings games. Thanks to Abby for third paragraph fragments.

Got to game super early. Bert jerseys, Uncle Tennis, and Joe rectangles. Lots of waiting and shivering - shouldn't have believed the weather report. Accidental trippings, rock-kicking, guys with cameras, and inaugural jerseys. Douchebags galore. Hockey virgins and female Hunters. Bitchy ushers with cancer sticks, and not being able to find camp due to the wind. Puck bunnies in spike heels getting entirely too close. Wafting body odor and cancer smoke, mixed with cheap perfume. Blue hair and more small boys. Geography lessons from the people mover. Publicity! And knowing how culture crash celebrities feel. A Fire Inside to speed up the time. Still obsessing about Dion and Verge Fest. Bert rules? Drooling for Timmy's, and imagining the smell of meatless Caesar's. Goal hats and cheesy Journey songs. He Who Laughs Last references. Unlocking doors. People getting lost while looking for the people mover, and wondering how that happens. Phone blogging and shoulder abuse. Redneck music in downtown Detroit. Scalpers. Douchey couple, round two, except more annoying. Bright red hair with a Mickey Mouse hoodie - please let fashion be dispelled. Photographers out of work. Flash, flash, car crash! We're no fixtures. Katie dancing. Dog tags for veterans night. A Timmy's slower than Brighton's and monstrous meatless pizzas - two of them! Long, broken straws demonstrate inadequacy during warm up. Black Eyed Peas and Celtic Wolfman. Attack to the mullets and a singular douchebag in a Hossa jersey. Wings on fire and Wild get rough. Squirts who score on themselves. Green stick tape. Pizza smell everywhere. I wanna ride the zamboni! Europe and intermission country singers. Pretending to be Italian. Gaggles of puck bunnies in heels with liver poison. Picking on Shorty No-Balls. Man, that douche was trippin'! Loud mouth DJ and lame Garth Brooks wannabe, and blocking it out with Prayer Position.

Hyper out of minds. Vest, mind brooms, vehicles on ice, and mullet bonding. Short jokes and seat jumping. The city of Ontario and knee pain. Douchey pelvic thrusting, bad stoppage music, and sore throats. Little Drapers. Swedish chefs, announcers who can't make up their minds, and spreading Army. Michael Jackson is dead. Epic neck pain. Jehovah's Witnesses and Sacrilege. Wishing for student rush tickets to the Pens game. Wishing for a signed Mule puck. Usher invasion, shitty commercials, and more geography. More Brighton, unfortunately. Dancing like whores. Corrigan is everywhere!

Ref hop and lottery tickets. Mind broom makes Jim a hooker. Free pizza. Wings won, but no fries for us. Shut up, douchebag! Drunk Homer fan. Darren's fun in the garage. Checkered fedoras, lost cars, and giraffe purses. More Italian impersonators. Lost voices and boogers. No Miss Murder. No sax before the game - they did it after. Long wait in the garage. Douche-hattery everywhere. The chorus of car alarms. Are we ever going to get out of here?! SKY SPI. Creeper guy staring at Peanut. Little old lady got mutilated last night. Still twelve degrees. EATDIRT. Doug does not play everything. Bass douchebag behind us. It's raining. People need to learn how to drive. Almost plowed into car and trucks. Popo letting us go through red - Peanut doesn't notice. Pretty casino. O'blivions Corktown Cafe. Hobo at the corner. Dear ramp, I hate you. Log Cabin Avenue. Green liver poison. Slim Shady by 8 Mile Road. Sabbath, anyone? This rain sucks. Gaga cover of Michael Jackson. Cluster-fuck of I-96. Stay awake, stay alert, stay alive...stay fresh! Peanut is a doofus. Green Day...good Green Day. Shift Darren, shift! Drop Peanut off - looking ahead to a rainy drive home. Nothing on the radio, as usual. Let's listen to it pour. Quiet dog and parental units. A long awaited urination, just to be refilled. Another Ansley-free bedside. Fresh jammies, and another crash. Up at 6:30 AM for work. There will never be enough coffee.

Second paragraph reference to short jokes: "Rafalski? For hooking? What, did he hit him in the chest?" Best joke ever.

Fragment Blog 1

A blog in fragments. Because fragments are awesome. Stole the idea from the Crash Love iTunes LP. So here it is. Fragment blog. Hopefully the first of many.

Sleeping with knees everywhere. Going to the couch to be stared at by Mom and Aunt Noell and garbage-licking anchor dog. Sleeping like crap because of convicted felon cousin who is being stupid again. Waking up to Landon staring at me. Beautiful Thieves on MTV 2. Napping in the morning to A Fire Inside and the Shelby-riffic/garbage kiss wake-up. Dudesons with Abby, Flames game with Dad lacking Dion, but with added gabbing, screaming squirts, douchey Calgary fans, onion breath, and unnecessary knee touching. Being sandwiched to Dad's side, except when I send him to find vegetarian food on the concourse that has no exploitation. Flinching at the name Dave and secretly imagining him in the seat next to me - totally out of his element. Phone blogging in fragments. Lady Gaga dance-off during the first intermission with a contestant named Adam. Looking out for douchebags in Hossa jerseys and puck-bunnies during a scoreless first period, and trying not to slip on spilled liver poison when seat jumping is required. Pretending to be Italian and ducking flying Caesar's.

A rowdy second period, which sparks an internal powerplay debate, douchey Calgary fans stay douchey while hometown fans get douchier. More knee touching. Game rivalries nearly turn into a war with the entire country of Canada. A chorus of boos gives way to the mother of all headaches. Kids in Crosby jerseys and old people in Toronto ones. Black pants with brown boots, pre-ripped jeans and coach purses, drunkenness are not fashionable. Intermission leads to imagining Jade on figure skates. Sticky, dried liver poison and a refill for Dad. The sudden urge to pee, but not doing it for fear of long lines and public restrooms. Complaining about the music choice and noise meter, which is a lie. The throwing of objects onto the ice surface is prohibited, but the throwing of peanut shells at opposing fans isn't - it should be. Razzing Kipper and taking it too far. Wings score two, Calgary one. Lots of hits and opinionated fans in a packed house. Creeper Flames fans looking for cronies. Olympic boycott for ruining American/Canadian diplomacy. Head is pounding worse than Kill Caustic at the State in November. Enlightening discovery of Timmy's on the concourse, which is perfect for the coffee addict hockey fan.

Sucking it up and using the facilities. Finding out Bert fans exist, and laughing at that fact. Not being able to get away from Brighton, even while in Detroit. Being weirded out at the sight of a little boy in the ladies' room., and coming back to a tied game. Goalies who score on themselves and refs who call nothing. Still more knee touching. Howard chants and offsetting team cheers, once again. More Italian impersonators and people on the jumbotron devouring their free bloody-meaty-meat pizza. Wasted powerplays and realizing that the Flamer douchebag two rows down has a space in his faux-hawk for his sunglasses, even though the Joe is a dungeon. Wondering what fraction of cow was used to make the arena hostess's leather jacket. Marveling at how far a child's voice can carry and how drunks can't coordinate their yelling. Wishing my section won free Timmy's, and then considering that my bad luck would never let that happen. Bad movie montage and a slow-clap catastrophe. Strobe-induced seizures and people picking on Jon. Momentum shifts, trying not to give up, and foot-tapping to stoppage music. Trying not to yawn and fighting to keep my eyes open. Preparing for the long trek home by LOLing at cheesy animations. Missing Darren, Tater, and May, because the Flames could really use having their asses handed to them. The follies of the noise meter making ears ring and heads spin, and listening to omniscient fans' chatter makes it worse. Weezer and more drunk, loud fans. Dad complaints - can't wait for Milwaukee and Ottawa. Flames empty-netter, Calgary wins, and the wings are back out of the playoffs. Tunnel potholes, cancer-sticks, and bald tires on road patches. Weddings, roommates, lack of laser hair removal billboards, stuck semi trucks, traffic jams, and speed limits. Curing headaches with A Fire Inside. Finally, warm spring nights, mud, and honey bees, dad in a drunken stupor, the dog, peach tea, trucks lit up like Christmas trees, and cows? Deserted back roads, empty parking spaces nearly void of snow, the other dog, who is surprisingly quiet. An Ansley-free bedside! More A Fire Inside, and more phone blogging. The end of a funky hair day. And then, there was a crash, and out like a light.

One of Those Days

Have you ever had one of those days? Because yesterday, I had one of those days. The ones where this happens:

You wake up and make your daily pot of coffee, only to have the foam from the chocolate soy milk you put in it bubble up over the brim of your cup and spill everywhere.

Your mom calls you and yells at you for your checking account supposedly being seventy dollars in the hole, even though your bank is stupid and has screwed you over before, so you're pretty sure it's not your fault.

You're late for work because your grandma called you while you were making your soy chicken salad to talk to you about absolutely nothing for a half hour, which delays you from eating.

Because you were already late, you don't take the time to make yourself look presentable, so the only cosmetics you have on are concealer, eyeliner, and the remains of your mascara, which happens to be really chunky and gross.

When you finally get to work, your boss is crabby, so he takes it out on the closest person, which happens to be you.

A customer at work decides to lecture you on marriage after you answer the phone and are accused of being your boss's wife (and this thoroughly disgusts you). What's more: The guy was a regular consumer of liver poison, with self-declared bad fashion.

Your manager is really sick, and now you feel a sore throat coming on.

Another co-worker decides to glare at you, un-intimidatingly, because you're using your break to talk on the phone to your best friend, even though said co-worker used his to further his chance of lung cancer.

When you get home after work, your dad is drunk.

You and your sister decide to go to your favorite restaurant for dinner, and the waitress makes a mistake on your order, which leads to two vegetarians with twisted looks on their faces picking chicken out of their vegetable stir-frys. The waitress, who was really nice, apologized profusely and made you feel like a jerk for saying something about it. On the plus side, she alters your bill for the "inconvenience," but you end up eating too much, and are in a bad mood for the rest of the night.

When you finally go to bed, you don't fall asleep for hours because the guy who lives in your basement is talking quite loudly, and is playing terrible country music through his new DVD player. Ain't that somethin, y'all?

Thankfully, so far at least, today is a better day. The sun is shining again, and it's the weather is supposed to be nice, so I'm going to go bask in it with my sister and my best friend. Order will be restored.

Jesus Crosby

Thanks for winning me the gold, man. Can I go back to hating you now?